Fable One-Shot Numero Nueve!
by schmeschma
Summary: In the ninth story of my oneshot series, Forge finds himself in a bit of a conundrum.


**A.N.: The idea behind this chapter came from a PC game called Roommates by Winter Wolves. You can also find it in the app store for a free trial! {Isabella steals Dominic's clothes as he showers and your character gets the blame for it (or so Max's story goes. I suppose in Anne's story, Dominic would get extremely embarrassed.}**

One peaceful day at the Bowerstone Castle, the queen of Albion's right hand man, known to many as Forge for his skill in blacksmithing, waited expectantly for the queen and a freckled soldier that often trailed after her, both of whom meant trouble for Forge, who was supposed to keep an eye on the pair. However, the duo was much more clever than the blacksmith had even imagined and had easily escaped his sight.

With a certain premonition, Forge scanned the corridors of the castle, listening carefully for the queen's voice or the officer's uniform march, only to conclude with silence. Something didn't feel right.

"Master Forge," said a nearby guard, saluting to the well-respected man.

"Harold-" Forge returned.

"Aleksy," the guard corrected.

Forge glanced at him, "terribly sorry. You both look very much alike."

"No need to apologize, sir."

"Aleksy," Forge said, "have you, by any chance, seen the queen?"

"No," said Aleksy. "but the freckled one said something about Millfields."

_Ben had made one fatal flaw,_ Forge thought with a smile.

"Thank you, Aleksy," said Forge.

"No problem, sir."

"Perhaps you should wear a name tag?" suggested Forge, before he departed from the castle, with an idea of where the queen and her freckled companion had gone to.

...

"Ben," shout/whispered Forge, biting his tongue, trying not to speak too loudly for fear that a certain deviant might hear. "what on earth were you _thinking_?!"

"Forge," Ben said, shrugging, "don't be such a killjoy."

"Shut up, Ben," said Blade, crouching behind an antique sofa. "_He_ might hear you."

Forge scowled at them.

When he finally caught up with them, fighting with a team of mercenaries at the edge of town, Forge nearly strangled Ben for being a bad influence over the queen. With as much curiosity as he could muster, Forge demanded to know what they were doing anyway. Without an answer and much of a choice, Forge reluctantly followed the two. As they reached the largest estate in Millfields, owned by the man Forge liked least of all, he began to piece together their plans.

Humming drifted into the entryway from the bathroom. The sound of running water and splashing followed.

"I'm going in," said Blade. "Wish me luck!"

Quickly tiptoeing towards the sounds of the bathroom, Blade diligently somersaulted down the hall.

"What is she doing?" asked Forge, quietly.

"Sh!" Ben pressed a finger to his lips.

After a brief minute, Blade returned, holding a bundle of clothes.

"You're kidding me," said Forge.

"Toss them to me," offered Ben, lifting his hands as though ready to catch the bundle.

"Hurry," said Blade, cheerfully.

She and Ben carefully slipped out of the mansion. Shock overwhelming Forge, the blacksmith lifted one foot, slowly taking a step towards the exit. Before he had the chance to get away, a head poked out of the bathroom.

_Well, crap,_ thought Forge, with a wince.

"FORGE!" yelled Reaver. "WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE, I SWEAR I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

Forge shrugged, "Why wait?"

Reaver glared at him. "What do you mean?"

"You're famous for your impeccable aim, right? So why not kill me from here?"

Reaver's face soften, slightly. "If you fetch me a towel, I'll give you a thirty- second headstart." He nodded toward a narrow doorway in the long, dark hallway.

Forge cautiously walked toward it.

"What if I told you that I didn't do it?" he asked.

"_Yeah, right_," said Reaver, unconvinced.

"Seriously. Does it look like I stole your panties?" asked Forge, holding his hands up in defense.

"Oh? And I presume you know who the culprit was?"

Forge nodded. "Perhaps I could help?"

Reaver laughed and shook his head. "I'd rather not take the risk."

Forge shrugged, "fine. Have it your way."

Opening up the closet door, the blacksmith formulated an idea, one that would most likely get himself killed. _Oh, but would it be worth it._

Rummaging through the various towels and cloths, Forge frowned.

"I hate to say it, but-"

Reaver glared at him. "_WHAT_?!"

"-there aren't any towels left in your size," snickered Forge. Holding up a pathetic rag, he asked, "will this work?"

Forge tossed it at Reaver's outraged face, then sprinted away as quickly as he could.

"I'm giving you ten seconds to get the hell out before I murder you!" yelled Reaver behind him, as Forge darted out off the mansion, catching up with Blade and Ben, who waited nearby.


End file.
